


let heart hold true

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, POV Martino Rametta, Post-Canon, but like... blink and you miss it, i just always wonder how marti felt after the events of season three, so that's explored a little bit here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: Marti and Nico help Filippo with a photography project. It turns out a lot better than Martipictured.
Relationships: Filippo Sava/Dario, Martino Rametta & Filippo Sava, Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 26
Kudos: 141





	let heart hold true

“Did you ask him yet?”

Filippo sits down next to Nico and across from Martino at their usual table in Il Baretto, the one by the foggy window lightly covered in frost. It’ll melt by the afternoon. 

There’s an already empty espresso mug in his hand (which is undoubtedly the culprit as to why he sounds so chipper this early) and he directs the question to Nico before looking at Martino. Expectantly. Blue eyes full of his sassy panache. They match his hair now. Crisp and frostbitten like February.

But whatever it is he’s expecting, Marti isn’t sure. It makes his heart trip once in tepid panic. With Filippo, it always goes one of two ways: good or bad. Middle ground is not a battlefield he fights on.

Nico, forgetful, starts to go pink, a micro shake of his head. Marti shoots a confused pout over to him, and his unease gets returned with a sideways grimace that, if vocalized, would say _sorry!_ Nico passes the same look on to Fili.

Who sighs loudly, overplaying the dramatics of his annoyance. 

Marti is officially out of the loop. They know something he doesn’t, and a long pause laden with the mystery stretches between them all.

“C’mon!” Filippo whines, slapping his hand on the table. He gestures over to Marti, still lost. “He’d say yes if you’d asked him. He’ll say no to me simply out of spite.” And with that, he sticks his tongue out at Marti.

“Asked me what?” he finally chimes in, nervous laughing.

Filippo looks pointedly over at Nico, pursed lips and raised eyebrows that say _great, this would have been a lot easier if you’d just have used your charm._

Nico sucks a deep breath in. Marti notices him fidget with his thumb in his lap, twisting it between the fingers on his opposite hand. He’s recognized this nervous body language before, and each time it just makes him want to hold Nico’s hand and steady it.

“Fili wants to know... if we’ll help him... with a photography project…?” he drags out in one long, inflectioned exhale, looking between them with each word to make sure they’re the right ones. Trying not to take sides. But even so, Marti can tell he’s sugarcoating the extent of the favor.

He plays dumb. “More lookout duty?” Marti asks, relaxing back into his chair.

“No,” Fili replies, lowering his voice and leaning in. Like he’s about to tell a secret. “Modeling.”

Surprised, Marti immediately pictures himself in a slew of cheesy stock photos. One where he’s dressed like Shakespeare, holding a skull; another in his swim trunks, a dog pulling on his shorts to reveal his bum; holding too many zucchini at the grocery store, struggling to weigh them; and half-naked, barely covered by a sheet and a laurel wreath like he’s a Roman emperor.

Unrealistic — he knows Fili is more creative than that. But Marti isn’t. He starts to open his mouth in protest — his brain already coming up with an excuse — but Fili must be able to read the questioning crease on his forehead and stops him before he can object.

“Please!” He begs, clapping his hands together in pseudo prayer and shaking them against his chest. “I wouldn’t ask just anyone, you haven’t even heard about the project yet. And Niccolò was basically made to be photographed.”

Marti raises his eyebrow, interest peaked.

“And I’ll make do with you.”

“Fuck off,” Marti laughs.

“I’m kidding,” Filippo tsks. “You’re... gorgeous,” he chokes out, mainly in jest. It has Nico snickering, then knocking his foot against Marti’s under the table. “But for real, I’m doing a photo series for a project about what it’s like to be LGBT in Rome. You know how much this means to me.” He looks over to Nico, then, for backup when the silence on Marti’s end stretches long.

Yeah, it’s definitely not what Marti was expecting. And at this point, it’s not that he doesn’t want to do it. He just doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, what exactly he needs to do, who will see the photos, if it will affect his opportunities in the future… the anxious part of his brain could go on and on. 

Marti’s still not to the level of _no fucks_ Fili and Nico seem to adorn their crowns of pride with. But he’s getting there. Slowly. And with pushes (like this) from both of them.

“I think it would be kind of fun,” Nico shrugs, a smile pinching his lips into a sideways squiggle. 

He doesn’t meet Marti’s gaze when he says it, but pauses first before flashing him half-hooded puppy eyes, ringed in dark lashes. Deep and beseeching with a curl dangling perfectly on his forehead, like he practiced this look in the mirror. Tactical. 

Marti feels the pressure of them both. It’s two against one, and Fili was smart to rope Nico along. It’s hard to say no to him. Especially when he looks like this, his earnesty practically hemorrhaging out of his bitten down smile, teeth sinking into his bottom lip just to curb it back.

“Fine,” Marti agrees, looking to Nico before pointing a finger at Fili. “But you owe me.”

One eyebrow disappears into his gelid blue hair. “A cocktail?” Fili kids, the inside joke whiplashing Marti back to a time and place where confusion was rampant. Where that Fili and this Fili — where that Marti and this Marti — feel like two different people.

Just the memory makes his ribs claw at his heart. Neither good nor bad, just sentimental in an almost wistfully masochistic kind of way. 

(But looking back, Marti wouldn’t change a thing.)

Fili cares about him. In his own, stupid way. He might never say it to Marti directly, but maybe trusting him with his help is as good as he’ll ever get. 

Marti smiles softly at him. _I understand._

“Better make it two.”

• • •

“I thought we were going to gay street?” Marti asks, poking Fili in the back of the shoulder when the bus turns over the Tiber in the opposite direction. He and Dario are sitting in the bucket seats in front of him and Nico.

It’s late. Very late. Some might even say early. Nearing three in the morning on a Tuesday. The sky is black, twilight long gone and dusk still asleep. It must have rained earlier — orange reflections ripple in the puddles of the streets, making everything cold look warm. But Fili insisted this was the time they had to go. 

A sleepy Niccolò is resting his head on Marti’s shoulder, curls tickling the underside of his chin. They smell like their orange scented shampoo from his shower earlier, before a nap this evening that stretched into now. He had to be dragged out of bed, lured with kisses. 

“When did I say that?” Fili asks, twisting his chin over his shoulder in Marti’s direction. He puts an arm behind Dario to turn and look better.

“I guess I just assumed,” Marti mutters.

“We’re going to Ponte Sant’Angelo,” Fili smirks. “Angels for my angels.” 

On his spin to sit front-facing again, he pecks Dario on the cheek. Their lone counterpart on the bus — a middle-aged man sitting at the front — turns around at the suspicious sound, wrinkling his nose when he can’t spot the culprit. He gets off at the next stop.

Marti’s the only one who seems to take note of it.

The bus lets them off at Traspontina, and they cut through Adrian Park right in front of the castle to the bridge. Its lanterns glow peachy between the baroque sculptures, casting haunting shadows on their profiles. To their right, St. Peter’s towers, making the muddy Tiber below sparkle with its reflection. An artist could probably get away painting this witching hour with a color palette of solely black and orange.

Only the four of them echo across the cobblestones. Marti can actually hear the river flow. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Rome so empty before.

Once they’re towards the middle, Fili craning his neck for a good spot, he drops a long fabric bag from his shoulder — his backpack too — and starts to unpack his camera and a tripod, lengthening it’s telescopic legs as far as they will go.

Nico, still sleepy, leans on Marti. His chin on his shoulder like a puppy. He grabs his hand, too, and puts it in his warm pocket.

Out of habit, Marti looks nervously over his shoulder. His heart kicks once so hard it almost hurts before slowing back down. No one is here, they’re fine.

Dario helps Fili set up, and as Marti watches he thinks it’s rather sweet — that he knows what to do, that it’s obvious he’s helped him before. It makes him remember the menial assistance he provided Fili over a year ago: keeping a look out the window, fumbling with Fili’s SD card.

Yet that memory comes with a sour taste. He has the sudden urge to cleanse his palette, to pull Fili aside and apologize again out of the blue. Especially now, in hindsight, for his reluctance to help when Fili is right: he knows this means a lot to him.

But Fili turns around and looks at Martino with a heartfelt, torpid smile only the middle of the night could put on his face. Softened from fatigue, weakened further at the sight in front of him. And Marti knows all is forgiven, that Fili understands the road he’s fast-tracked is a race he’s still lucky to be in. Trips and falls included.

“You two are adorable,” Fili awhs, snapping a quick photo with the flash that catches Marti off guard. It makes Nico dig his nose into Marti’s jacket, hiding. He whines, and only Marti is close enough to catch the laugh in it.

Fili then affixes it to the tripod, level with his head, clapping his hands together.

“So,” he starts, looking between them. “I’m not really going to pose you two that much. I want you to just look… natural? And in love, but that shouldn’t be hard for you, obviously. The point of the photos is to showcase that you’re _lovers_ — there should be no transparency. Now, get up on the ledge, Dario will help you.”

Marti stiffens. “The ledge?”

“Yes, mister goody-goody, the ledge.” Fili rolls his eyes. “You won’t fall, look how wide it is. I want the church in the background, we love dichotomy.”

“Artists,” Nico mumbles into Marti’s shoulder. And it’s so funny coming from him, Marti can’t help but giggle.

With a boost from Dario, a caught foot in the gate of the bridge’s barricade, and a hand from Nico (who didn’t need any help — using a running start and his upper body strength to make it look effortless) Marti makes it up. He brushes his hands on his pants, damp from the rain-soaked concrete, and sits with his legs dangling off the side. 

Below, Fili is adjusting the settings on his camera. “So,” he drags out, not looking at them. “Because it’s dark and I don’t want to use the flash, I’m going to leave the shutter on for a long time. Maybe like… twenty seconds, and we’ll see how that looks. So you can’t move!”

“What do you want us to do?” Marti asks.

“Get naked for all I care,” Fili snorts, rolling his eyes. “No, c’mon. Get comfy, look in love, I don’t know.”

Unprompted, Nico’s hand snakes around Marti’s back, pulling him close. He scoots over and positions himself to sit in Marti’s lap, bent knees perpendicular to Marti’s still hanging off the edge. He laughs as he stumbles, hot into Marti’s ear and heavier than he looks. They’re so close, they don’t even sit on the couch like this at home.

Marti’s whole body immediately reacts, flutters with a lash of bright fire like a solar flare. Red cheeks and hitched breath. Tense spine and white noise. His heart takes a blow at his lungs, loud and low and sore at the bottom of his chest.

For a few reasons.

  1. Because the urge to kiss Nico takes over whenever their lips are within distance. Like strong magnets without a polar end and without a choice. 
  2. They’re out in public, and what if someone sees. 

“Is this safe?” He tenses up, backing away to look at Fili.

Marti had a brief fling with pride. After he told Gio. After he told the other boys with a lump in his throat. In Milan where Nico made him feel invincible, where he let him kiss him on the train, where they kissed outside, where they introduced themselves as boyfriends to the landlady and she said they looked cute together. In Il Baretto, in his own home, at a few parties: surrounded by friends and strangers alike. He’s always understood the consequences, but he’d be a liar to say that brief stint didn’t feel like a fever dream where nothing could touch him — the longer time stretched without anything bad, the further away those problems seemed. That party last year — the one on the roof where all he wanted to do was help Eva — it popped the glass, glittery bubble he tells himself he should have been more careful with. The shards of it still linger around him, poking him as a reminder when he goes too far.

Filippo knows Marti’s not talking about the ledge. “Safety not guaranteed, baby. But look how tall and scary Dario is — and Nico can run fast. We’ll be fine.” He says the last part a little quieter. “We suffer once for our identities and once for art.”

Nico snickers into Marti’s ear, hot breath igniting another blip of that flare. “Dramatic,” he whispers.

Dario rolls his eyes fondly.

And Marti, surprisingly, relaxes. More so when Nico presses his forehead against his, finds his cheek with his palm. At the touch, Marti feels like he could close his eyes, could sink sideways into Nico and fall asleep. Somewhere in the short bliss of it, he hears Fili click the shutter.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Nico whispers after a moment, soft deep voice laced with giggles. So close to Marti’s face he feels it almost more than he hears it.

“No,” Marti admits. “I didn’t fall asleep, like someone I know, because I wasn’t getting ready for bed.”

“Hmm,” Nico hums. “I can tell.”

“Fuck off,” Marti laughs, pushing at Nico’s chest lightly.

“You can’t _moooove,”_ Fili whines, stepping over to his camera to cancel the shot. “It’s going to be all blurry. You have to be still!”

“Sorry,” Nico winces, twisting away from Marti to wave a hand in apologies. “It was my fault.”

Fili narrows his eyes, unbelieving. “You’re too nice to him,” he teases, gesturing over at Marti.

Marti gives him the finger.

And Nico gets comfy again, hand finding Marti’s face, forehead finding its match. Noses bumped together like they are about to kiss. “No, I’m not,” he whispers, the words ghosting over Marti’s lips. Said just for him.

Marti can’t make out the details of his face this close, but he doesn’t need to to know that Nico is smiling. He hears the shutter click again, forcing them to be frozen.

And in the stillness, his heart starts striking his sternum. So loud it rivals the rush of the river below them. And not out of nerves or fear this time, but because still over a year later, Nico says little things like this, touches him in little places like this, and he feels love in its full form.

The shutter clicks again. Done.

“Can we do one more just like that?” Fili asks, standing on his tiptoes to get a glimpse of the photo in the preview screen. He starts clicking through the settings. “I think I need to leave the shutter on for just a few more seconds. But you guys look great.”

Marti lets a deep breath out, not realizing he was holding it. Nico’s hand on his face smooths over it, comforting, into the hair on the back of his neck. He nods, their foreheads still together, and it means both nothing and everything. A simple _yes._ A check-in, a promise.

“Three… two… one.” The shutter clicks again.

This time, Marti sees Nico close his eyes. He wishes he did, too, afraid of what the camera might capture in them. He can feel them grow soft and big, feel the smile in them that he can’t put on his lips now. Nico’s exhales through his nose land gently on Marti’s cheek, in time with the rises and falls of his chest. He’s so calm, so at peace. Marti wonders how he does it.

Another click. Done. Nico kisses him before the sound even registers, eyes never opening like he’d been waiting for that whole time.

It takes Marti off guard, and at first, a little siren goes off in his brain. Red and loud and disarming. But the relief in it, from Nico, is so potent it seeps through, dulling it to just red. A color Marti used to find scary and now finds comforting.

When Nico pops off, he quickly comes back for one more. Marti feels the smile in this one.

When they’re done, Marti notices Fili looking away. A little smile on his face. Whether he’s giving them privacy or keeping a lookout, both are appreciated.

“Ready?” Fili asks after a moment, after they’ve toned it down. “This one looks great. Let’s switch up the position.”

Nico — leading the way — gets up first, helping Marti to his feet with both hands. They each take in the ledge below them, wide enough to feel safe standing on. But their movements towards each other are still small stepped.

“Three… two… one.” The shutter clicks. Fili’s voice sounds so far away when Marti is up so high.

Nico kisses him once more, still and stoic and full of pride.

And Marti’s heart is kicking again, this time for all the right reasons.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/) 💛


End file.
